the war report

so, the new little thing is home with us and already we cannot imagine life without him.

that's not to say i don't sometimes come into the room and find i'm amazed to see a baby in a moses basket, or that my heart doesn't melt when i see the hubs holding him, or that i was so taken by seeing his tiny name printed on a prescription that i had to stick it on the fridge for keeps.

the prescription. now there's a story.

it's hard to know where to start so i'll go back to the moment i guessed the baby was coming. it was monday morning, the little thing was at nursery and the hubs had left for a couple of nights filming in blackpool. given that i spectacularly ruined his last work trip to vegas, i put any thoughts of calling him and telling him to turn back to the back of my mind.

instead i convinced myself that the baby would take ages coming, just like last time. and oh, that trickle couldn't have been waters breaking.

the parents had come up for dinner and seeing as i was planning to deliver the baby in my home town (just as with the first one) i told them i'd go back with them that night. by 8pm the contractions were unmistakable, by 10pm they were coming every 15 mins. i phoned the hubs and he started making plans to get back. the earliest would be by 9am.

i went to bed and by 3am the contractions were under 10 mins and utterly unbearable. my mother drove us to the hospital, every corner was an extra agony, every bump awful and all lived in slow motion ( her fastest driving speed is 'snail').

at the hospital we heard the dreaded words 'no time for an epidural'. trying to catch the midwife's eyes i could hear myself pleading 'no, please ... you don't understand ... is there an anaethetist on duty ? are they nearby ? ... when can they get here? '.

thankfully, georgina ('call me george') the anaethetist was nearby and showed up just in time. all i could think of was that i'd seen her before on a hockey pitch somewhere - and that she would definitely have been the superior player.

ok. so everything is now fine. i ask my mum to ring my best friend despite it being barely past 5am. i've already primed her that the hubs might not make it back in time. also, as her boys rarely sleep i figure it's not too much of an imposition.

best friend swans in some time later looking like she's off to a barbecue. tanned, pretty, smiling and so SLIM (last baby just 3 months old). it was great to see her and by the time she left i was in a euphoric epidural induced haze. hey, if the hubs didn't make it, too bad huh?

then the midwife examined me. she went quiet. told me the baby's heart beat was dropping so they'd need to get the baby out quickly. said they'd break the waters. examined me again and couldn't find the waters. guessed they'd broken without me noticing. yes, kind of i said.

so then there was another problem. the baby was not lying in the right position. it was TRANSVERSE. now, i don't know a lot about medical matter but i'd seen that episode of 'Bodies'. Max Beesley looks gorgeous whilst fighting in vain to save either the baby OR the mother from dying during a transverse delivery.

a doctor appears. unfortunate manner. three midwives are also in the room. emergency c-section is mentioned. but they'll test the baby's blood first to see if they can buy some time.

blood comes back ok, doctor disappears. midwife props me up on one side with a pillow, hoping gravity will shift the baby. she also whacks up the medicine to induce contractions and gives the epidural an extra boost.

as i lie there the clock is ticking past 7am into 8am. all i can think is that the hubs is not too far away now, not far away now.

when he comes into the room he's crying. i'm crying too and i ask him 'have they told you?'. he says yes and sits down beside me.

i feel as if life as we know it is ending. the baby's heartbeat is on a loud speaker and we can all hear the dips and peaks as the contractions come. all i can think of is the emergency operation, or worse of the cutting and pulling and suction of a ventouse delivery. i just want the baby out, i want it to be well. give me the operation, it's the lesser of two evils.

the midwife examines me again. the atmosphere is calm. just me, her and the hubs. she tells me 'you're going to have this baby naturally'. the baby has turned. i can't believe what i'm hearing. 'but' she says ' you're going to have to work hard'. 'i'll do it, i say, i know i can, just give me a chance, i'll work really hard!"

5 minutes later our baby was born. 'what is it? what is it?' i was asking the hubs as he stared blankly at me with the baby on my chest. he looked under the towel that the little thing was wrapped in and said

"it's a boy"

it's a boy !

born 10 am, Tuesday 25 July weighing 8lb 8oz

he is made of velvet x

breastfeeding debate ? how boring ...

i must be feeling more like my normal self these days. the whole 'should we / shouldn't we encourage mothers to breastfeed in public' has been reignited by a petition taken to downing street by big breasted women.

ok, maybe they didn't have big breasts but something about all this makes me think that the ladies protest too much.

sure, there's a lot to deal with when breastfeeding. e.g

1) the pain

2) the embarassment of your boobs becoming PUBLIC

3) the uncomfortable feeling of being devoured by the thing that has just destroyed your body.

but maybe that's just me. which is exactly my point. it's personal.

personal means 'up to you'. personal means 'rough with the smooth'. personal means 'adult enough to know what's best for baby and for you as a mother'. and personal means that if you get your boobs out in public, people will stare.

i admire women who breastfeed, because i know how tough it is. it didn't click for me, so formula was the way forward for us.

i'm happy with this and i'm happy that my next baby will be formula fed from the off. the hubs is less happy but hey, i'm in charge here.

the one thing that riles me slightly is women who 'can't understand' why others would choose NOT to breastfeed.

i'm thinking it's a weird kind of mummyhood nazism, a horrible middle class NCT inspired holier than thou-ism and a real lack of sisterhood where it's needed.

can't we all just grow up a bit ?

the debate should be about making sure women have access to the right information about the benefits of bottle v. breast and breastfeeding techniques. we should also make sure there's access to professional troubleshooters AND increasing numbers of places where it's possible to breastfeed privately in public should you so wish ( bluewater we love you).

what doesn't help is pointing the finger at women who admit they tried and failed. it's simple, it's personal, not all of us can breastfeed. it's not school, we don't have to send in a note explaining why.

let's just focus on making it easier for the women who can and do.

you're working ?

yes, i'm working. but when's the baby due ?

what ? oh, this thing - any time next month. lovely to see you, i'll come and catch up with you later !

yes, i'm working and it's been fabulous. kind of like a little set piece play of my life before babies and marriage. i get up, put on my costume, get on the train and then all of a sudden it's sweet urban me again.

a quick sweep of selfridges, pick up a salad and i'm set to clock on for the day.

i get stuck into the work easily and i try to stay sitting down. that way less people notice (or feel obliged to comment on) my advanced state of pregnancy.

'when is my baby due?' oh do me a favour ... do you really care ? can't we just talk about the weather. "you are such a fabulous looking pregnant woman!" er ... i know, so can we just stop mentioning it ?

maybe i should get one of those t-shirts printed up - "Yes! Pregnant and Fabulous" and on the back comes the pay off "for more details log on to slummymummy.blogspot.com"

and it's only going to get ...

having your second child means you know a lot of things. not only about looking after a little baby, but what happens to you and those around you when it finally pops out.

as far as the b-word goes, you understand that i have no illusions about what a positive experience this can be. i'm simply hoping for a swift, drug induced delivery in what can only be described as war between your baby and your body.

so, the next thing to realise is that pregnant lady now becomes new mum. whereas a few days ago strangers would have sparked up conversations about 'how long to go / do you know what it is / etc , there's no-one going to ask you exactly how many hours of sleep you managed last night or how you're stitches are doing.

and then of course there's your husband. the poor thing will have either up all night or sleeping in an upright chair during the b-word. he will be tired and in need of sleep, food and most probably sex.

of course, the bonus here is that you do get a squishy squashy teeny tiny 'how come that fitted inside me' / 'how come i squeezed that out of me' baby. last time round i didn't get that delivery room glow - i was just terrified of doing something wrong. maybe it will happen this time round, or maybe it will be a delayed pleasure like with the little thing.

the other bonus, of course, should be that lovely close time with your significant other. images of all of us on the bed together, him taking pictures, fetching drinks and chocolate etc. wouldn't it be lovely?

except that going on my theory of what's good now gets worse later, that's not going to happen.

this morning we've already argued over who should get up with the little thing (who has a temperature) with him suggesting a 'shift system' of parenting is what we need. as in, i get up early and he gets up later.

i asked him several times if he thought this was appropriate with me at 9 months pregnant and counting. unable to answer, he begged me to stop berating him and went, like a bear with a sore head, back to bed.

marriage counselling

so then nigel said 'well, how do you feel about yourself?'

the hubs had just been telling him how gorgeous and attractive and desirable he found me - and how he felt sad and frustrated that i don't respond to this.

i sat there wondering if i could get through the answer without the tears spilling out of my eyes and down my face. i pinched my leg. i took a deep breath. a drink of water. i re-focussed on the corner of the ceiling.

nigel shifted in his chair, the hubs started to say something before nigel intervened and asked him to let me speak.

too bad. the first tear was over the edge and sliding down my cheek. i reached for one of nigel's thoughtfully placed tissues. shit, these were the kind of tears that don't stop any time soon.

i knew i had to say something, but to be honest my mind was a total blank. what on earth did it mean ? how do i feel about myself ... none of the immediate answers seemed any good ( e.g tired, exhausted, extremely pregnant, sad).

I ran throught more complicated answers ( mourning our happiness, devastated that my plan for us hasn't worked, feeling desperate for solitude) but these just confused me even more.

'but you're gorgeous' the hubs blurted. 'everyone says so!'

the tears were still falling. i had to say something.

"fragmented".

Zzzzzzzzz ......

i don't think i've felt this tired since ... oh, since i was about to have the little thing.

this morning was a nursery morning so i came home and slept. then i woke up so tired that i called to see if she could stay for the afternoon. so i got off the phone and slept. the hubs is away tonight so i'm going to have some dinner - and sleep.

i am now one of those 'mommy bloggers' who only has tiredness to talk about. oh no! the future could be bleak for this blog - tiredness could be the start of a downhill slide into endless posts on the impossibility of weight loss, detailed birth stories and my breastfeeding diary.

tee hee, well as i have NO illusions that i'm breastfeeding the new little thing that's one thing we don't need to worry about. fingers crossed that i'll be able to lose weight from my tried and tested excercise / diet regime and detailed birth stories never look that good in print. in my experience they just escape when you least expect them.

like the time i went to see some old friends from the newsroom and they asked how come i'd been in labour so long ? (the 44 hour marathon timing had somehow made it onto the new arrival email). without thinking i replied that i had no idea and would have asked for pain relief sooner except my mind kept going blank with pain every time i had a contraction.

it was months later i heard a story repeated to me that Jane W had now vowed never to have children since i had told the work mates "what it was really like".

oh dear.

i like this saturday

yesterday i was at work in the city on the anniversary of the london bombings. the newsroom was doing pretty much blanket coverage of all the ceremonies and memorials that were happening and the mood was pretty sombre.

it was great to be back at work again despite suffering a horrible technical hitch. but i guess that's the consequence of being out of the workplace for a long stretch.

after work i met my friend the ice fairy who's recently back from the arctic ( see links to other blogs). it's always fun to see her. she's possibly planning a longer return to the arctic and has agreed to be honorary auntie / godmother to the new little thing.

how could a child ever be bored with those stories ?

today granny grandpa are coming to collect the little thing and the hubs and i are off to our hotel by the sea. how exciting!


getting very excited about the new little thing and just trying to dispel any anxieties over the b-word with the thought that however awful it may be, it will at some point be over and we can come home with the little baby and never, ever think about childbirth again.

i saw my old boss at work yesterday. she's in her late 40s, no children, fabulous career, horrible people skills. "Another baby?" she asked me incredulously as she passed by. "Yes, I hope so!" I said, smiling and looking down at the basketball beneath my dress. and i realised that i was so glad that my life is as it is. even with the b-word, the counselling and the chasms in our marriage, i would rather be me than a frosty senior editor fortysomething however fabulous the perks of the job are.

it's my birthday

and i've discovered the secret of not being disappointed on your birthday. it's the same as not being disappointed in your marriage - just don't expect too much.

i also had a fabulous, fabulous dream last night ( one of the ultra vivid pregnancy ones ) in which i was married to mr big from sex and the city. i was explaining to him that i felt a bit bored so he suggested a trip " I don't know, York, maybe New York ?"
whoopee NY please, who's the Daddy!

then i woke up. but hey, it was one of those dreams that was so good that you couldn't possibly be disappointed.

back in the real world and the hubs and i are off for a night in an art deco hotel on
the coast. he's also promising presents and something to be delivered later in the day. my goodness.

a moment's peace

little thing at nursery, hubs on the train, me at home on the lap top with gorgeous gorgeous cool breeze coming from the rain outside the windows.

have decided to use this post as a little aide memoire of certain significant things going on in my life at the moment.

1. am eight/ eight and a half months pregnant. looking ok, feeling squashed and dreading the b-word. you know, birth.

2. am working 5 days this month. doubting the sensibility of this but the offer came at a time when i needed to confirm the possibility of financial independence from the hubs, should i decide to leave him.

3. is my birthday tomorrow. how nice. although did ban birthdays last year when we had a full scale drunken row about his mother over a very expensive dinner.

4. despite the unspeakable horrors of the b-word, we have a new little thing coming to live with us. i am so thrilled and so excited. still can't believe that i have a family of my own.

5. feeling sad that the ice cream embargo (lifted during pregnancy) will return when the little thing arrives.

6. oh, and of course, the constant musings, "... I wonder if it's a boy ? It might be a girl. It would be lovely to have a boy. I'd love another girl ..."

in my fantasy life

as an antidote to depressing myself, here's to escaping reality.

in my fantasy slummy mummy world

1. my nose would be straighter (yes of course i'm that vain)

2. we would have a nanny. just 2 days a week. and she would probably wear a uniform.

3. the hubs could organise his diary to not forget going on holiday/ marriage counselling/ collecting the little thing from nursery etc etc.

4. there would be more sun and more daylight hours in the english winter.

5. i'd have the kind of children that you have to wake up in the morning. and the kind of husband that makes me tea in the mornings.

of course i've had to limit myself, but wouldn't it be lovely ?

depressing myself

I haven't posted anything for AGES as i realised that blogging about what's going on in my life was depressing me and would surely have the same effect on anyone else who stumbled across the pages.

but you know, my blog's become a bit of a reliable friend over the past few pregnant lonely months and i couldn't stay away that long.

so the good things at the moment are

1. nigel. the marriage counsellor / mind reader. i love him.

2. the showbiz wedding in france that the little thing was flower girl for is OVER

3. summer finally being here, therefore ice cream being totally legitimate

4. the little thing. not to bore you with the details but SO adorable.

and the bad things at the moment are


1. having comedy pregnant bump with stick arms and legs. being told i look fab when i feel like bursting. the words glamorous and elegant. just leave me alone.

2. shame at showbiz wedding of having to juggle baby and bump while the hubs drank/ smoked/ socialised / had hangover etc etc

3. inability to sleep at night compared with ability to enter deep deep sleep at 0700 each morning just as little thing wakes up.


so on balance things are neither dreadful nor dreamy. and shalimar the clown was a great read and i'm always so grateful for any little convincing escape from reality.